


Gotta Rub Me The Right Way

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Graphic Sex, Humor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:50:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Andre Cotard finds a magic lamp, rubs it, and conjures a beautiful genie, ready to grant him three wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

Major Andre Cotard sat in the armchair beside the hearth, gazing into his glass of brandy as he made it churn with a circular movement of his wrist, as if he could divine some great truth from its stirring surface. The only light was that of the fire, the orange-red flames licking at the air like the lashing of tongues, making strange shadows grow and fade on the walls around him. Outside the large picture window, beneath the drearily heavy damask curtains and just beyond the thick panes, snow was falling. Behind the great oaken pocket doors in a darkened room sat the pianoforte, untouched.

It was Christmas Eve. He should have been happy. But he wasn’t. Here he was sat in a house that did not feel like a home, in a country that welcomed him but one in which he did not feel welcome. No family of his own, his friends all celebrating with their own kin. He wasn’t truly melancholy as such, rather more alike boredom. He missed the grand merrymaking, the balls, and the pretty ladies with their dimpled smiles. The pretty and willing ladies. He missed the ladies.

He began to doze off, his chin resting upon his chest and his head sagged. The grandfather clock in the hallway roused him as it chimed midnight. Christmas Day. Joyeux Noel. He stretched, his tall, limber legs sprawling out in front of him. Time for bed. He made it up the stairs and nearly to his bedchamber before he remembered something, stashed away, probably in the garret. Not worth the effort, really, just an old trunk of his parents’ belongings, most of what was left of the Cotard estate. Rubbish really, odds and ends thrown together. Did he really have anything better to do than crawl into a cold, empty bed?

He threw back the lid of the aged and worn chest, sending a flurry of dust into the air, obscuring the lantern for a moment. Nothing much of terrible interest, as he’d suspected; a few horrendously outdated frocks he could only presume belonged to his grandmother, a small box filled with rather intimate notes written by his father to his mother which he avoided with a cough. Hello there, what was that gleaming dully like unpolished brass hidden over there in the left hand corner?

Exactly what it had looked like in the first place, a tarnished piece of what was most likely brass, maybe even tin. A lamp in an oriental design, he could tell it had been curiously well taken care of in its time for a traveler’s trinket. There was writing on it, obscured by age and dirt; there was no telling whether or not he could read the arch, slanted writing if not for the grime. He pulled the sleeve of his frock coat up to his knuckles, gathering it in his palm as he used the material to rub the filth off.

He dropped it when he felt what he thought was a pulse coming from within; it landed with a ringing clank upon the floorboards at his feet. No, he wasn’t mistaken, he heard it again! And once more, getting faster and stronger each time. And, no, it was not his imagination that a rosy glow swelled from within with each throb.

‘Mon Dieu,’ he thought, ‘I must be asleep and this must be a dream.’

A thick, cherry-colored smoke began to issue from the spout of the lamp, clinging low to the ground as it gathered into a swirling eddy, at its center a shape, obscure at first but more substantial, tangible as the cloud suddenly dispensed as if he was seeing in reverse, back into the lamp. The form unfurled itself like a restive pixie just waking as the petals of the smoke opened out like a flower, the petals of a rose. It was a woman, most definitely a woman with her voluptuous curves, round and firm bosom and bottom, something to really grasp onto. And, by the manner of her dress, she wasn’t ashamed of it either!

Her breasts were bound by a band of gilt fabric that shimmered in the candlelight, the blouse, if a mere ribbon of cloth could be called such, was gathered inward in the valley between her abundant breasts, accentuating their titillating form and volume. Recklessly draped just below her slim waist, resting upon her shapely hips was a golden sash, tiny medallions dangling from its edge. This flourished into harem-style pants of the finest, silkiest gossamer that allowed him to observe every contour and bow of her attractive, if short, legs.

And finally, her last, misty veil fell away and revealed was her face. And what a face! Round, it was, full blushing cheeks, large, lucid hazel eyes framed with black lashes and two thick, archly-shaped eyebrows. Her hair was straight and almost scandalously short, cut in a manner that clung to her face and barely went past her chin. It was dark, too dark in this light to tell whether it be brown or sable, but he could make out clearly the generous streaks of blonde, almost silver, that marked her tresses. A broad pink mouth completed the picture, its corners quirked slightly in an inquisitive smile.

“I am Aissa,” said an intoxicatingly melodious and husky voice, waving her hand and producing a cutlass which she used in a graceful, sinuous display as she spoke, “and I have been called the Jewel of the East. I have been a treasure to kings, a slave to man’s dearest desires. You have released me, handsome stranger, and therefore I am forfeit to your deepest needs. I grant to thee three wishes, no matter how...wicked.”

Andre could simply face the situation in the only manner he knew: He laughed, a wry sound that favored one side of his lips. “I only just wanted to read the writing on the brass,” he said, not sure if he was talking to himself or this apparition before him. “I was wiping away the dust...”

“Well, fancy!” Aissa replied rather sardonically. “It says ‘Stroke here to release Aissa, Jewel of the East, treasure to kings!’ Glad that little inscrutability is resolved. I am yours, master, do with me what you will!” Andre only stared disbelievingly, mistrusting his own eyes. “Come on then, wealth, power, forbidden cravings, what’s your pleasure, eh? Still don’t trust me, do you?” Andre stared back at her confounded, astonished, still incredulous. “Right, how about I give you one complimentary wish--just the one mind--to prove the sincerity of my words.”

“You are in earnest,” he spoke with dubious amusement, “I am sure. And quite an agreeable invention of my imagination at that. Right, you require my faith in your proclamations? Take me to Paris.”

“Where?” she inquired simply.

Andre scoffed skeptically. “You do not even know where Paris is?” Still, there was an inscrutable smirk on those lips of his, an amused arch to his brow as he folded his arms and leaned his long legs against a nearby bureau. Aissa felt herself flustered, blushing and indignant at his countenance of easy indifference.

“I *know* where Paris is,” she insisted tetchily, pouting slightly; she knew it would make her look like little more than a child but she wanted to stamp her feet, to throw a tantrum, anything to shake off that smug look on his face. It would only make him behave more patronizingly, she thought. “I just haven’t been there for a few hundred years, not that it should make a difference,” she sniffed proudly. “My meaning was dissimilar, monsieur, to your understanding of the question; I should have inquired as to when you wanted to go to Paris.”

He shrugged with an arrogant manner of unconcern. “As soon as possible, I suppose.”

“You misread me again, monsieur,” she replied haughtily, wanting to add an aloof ‘ha!’ but deciding against it. “Past, present or future?” When he remained condescendingly unresponsive, she screwed her face up, nearly boiling at his blatant affront. “All right then. Have it your way!” She raised both hands and snapped her fingers in unison. By the time the thumb reached the forefinger, it was as if a fire had ignited from within her palms and was now growing and consuming the both of them. He felt, only for an instant, what it was like to be completely enveloped in that thick, perfumed smoke of hers and, when he came to his senses after a dizzying moment where he felt he might lose the contents of his stomach, he found himself standing in a flourishing green field. It was dotted with rolling hillocks of waving grass, and in the distance, he could see what appeared to be a garrison crafted of finely hewn, thick wood planks.

“Paris!” Aissa announced grandly, spreading her arms. “Mind you, a few hundred years before you were even a dream in the eye of the universe! I give you,” she flourished majestically with her arms, “the past!”

“A cow pasture?” he asked plainly though she could still read that self-satisfied lilt in his voice.

“In the past!” she replied defensively. “Behold the wonder that is...Well, all right, so it’s not that impressive and perchance I’m thinking I should have brought you to the future where you could marvel at...technological wonders and, and...OH!” she exclaimed, aggravated. He was crawling under her skin in an alarmingly rapid space of time, her irritation perhaps a pretense or a reaction to the fact that he was not falling reverently at her feet.

“What is wrong with you?” she snapped. “Even when they don’t accept what I say as truth, I’m usually on my back within moments! Or my knees. Or on all fours, but that is not the point! I offer you the world on a salver and you, you just stand there and...leer! It is exasperating! *You* are exasperating!”

A low whistle caught their attention as it swiftly changed to a menacing whine; the looked to the azure sky simultaneously. The flaming head of an arrow was growing hurriedly closer, both of them jumping out of the way as it landed with an agile thump, imbedding itself in the ground between them.

“Oh, ha ha,” she tittered nervously, shuffling her feet, “Vercingetorix; what a lark, that man! The times we had! Still, better to be safe...” And, as a rain of arrows headed in their direction, Aissa raised her hands again, snapped her fingers and...

With a belly churning tumble through the fragrant, misted oblivion, Andre found himself sprawled out on the most supple, restful velvet cushion, feathered pillows of gold, violet and crimson beneath his head and scattered amongst the expanse of the round mattress. The air was heavy with spice; he recognized the heady bouquet of incense from his time in India. In point of fact, this all seemed rather familiar, it dawned on him: The elaborate gilt tiles and lavish drapes upon the walls, the ornately curved doorjambs and beaded curtains, the bed’s canopy of ornamental gossamer...

A harem! He was lounging on his back in the middle of a harem!

But it was more like a gentleman’s whimsy, his fancy of a harem, than the genuine thing; the colors were too bright, the embellishment too fanciful, like something read in a book. He started as Aissa’s face flit into view above his own; she was smiling broadly, most likely satisfied at catching him off his guard.

“This is what is ordinarily wished for by men such as you,” she sighed contentedly, clearly pleased with her own work as she rocked to and fro upon the heels of her feet, her arms folded behind her back. “Delights of the flesh, surprisingly more potent, more compelling than great wealth, might or influence. Oh,” she gasped lightly, “but where are my manners? Bring on the girls!”

She snapped her fingers and there appeared, dancing gracefully upon their tiptoes like a bevy of alluring nymphs, two undulating processions of veiled ladies, barely clad in their garishly colored and bejeweled attire. There was an array to select from, from tall to short, light to dark, cropped hair to flowing tresses, petite waists, petite breasts, large, buxom backsides; there was an arrangement of practically everything dreamt of by man and God. They surrounded the mattress, falling to their knees, each pleading with him in many different accents, intonations and enunciations to choose her above the others to pleasure, fawning, nearly crying to be the one to serve him and sate his carnal appetites.

He laughed with strained good nature as he pried their clutching grasps from his limbs. “And what if I am convinced now?” he queried of Aissa, quirking an eyebrow as the women sought to demonstrate their prowess on each other, pinching and twisting nipples, burrowing their heads betwixt the thighs of the girl beside them, nuzzling the fragrant little thatch there before penetrating it with their tongues. “Mon Dieu,” he cleared his throat, trying to keep himself focused. “Will you dispose of these...these creatures?”

It wasn’t merely distaste for the spectacle playing before him like an ancient relief from some hedonistic eastern country, for it was quite pleasing to his eye and to his nethers, which had begun to throb delightfully with an inrush of hot blood. No, it was more the thought of these women belonging only to this daydream reality, not separate in any way, made only with one purpose. And an agreeable purpose it was, at that! But, try as he might, he could not become completely aroused by these visions for they were hollow, empty things, not women at all.

“Is that what you wish?” Aissa frowned a little as if she could not comprehend. “Truly, to be rid of them?” The harsh look he shot at her was all the confirmation she needed and, snapping her fingers once again, they were gone. Andre breathed a discernible sigh of relief. “You still have three wishes left, in case you were wondering,” she said awkwardly. “This was a trial, you know. I chose. Wrongly, it would seem.” The frown was back on her face. She sat at the edge of the mattress, her back to Andre as she slumped down a little. “What’s your name, anyways? Don’t think I ever asked.”

“Andre,” he answered softly, studying her from behind; her posture, her bearing which had been so plucky, so hotheadedly spirited was now replaced with a countenance of disappointment, even defeat. Perhaps he didn’t fully comprehend what was happening here; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s conduct had completely mystified him and, with luck, would not be the last. “Andre Christophe Cotard. I-I feel as though I must ask for forgiveness though I am not entirely sure as to why.”

“Cotard,” Aissa said in a tone that suggested a sort of reflective melancholy. “Yes, now I recall! A Cotard bought the lamp from a merchant in the Marrakech night market. His name was...Raoul, yes I remember it quite clearly now! He squandered my gift spitefully, wishing the pox upon his neighbors’ cattle, a bought of most unattractive warts upon his beloved’s other suitor and a particularly nasty case of dyspepsia upon his sweetheart’s mother! He blamed me for his extraordinarily dull wishes, stuffed me in and bottled me up as if it were my fault he had an astonishingly dreary imagination!” She turned on him, the spark coming back into her eyes as she spoke with renewed fervor, “My purpose, my responsibility, my pleasure is to give pleasure, do you not you see?”

He had to confess that he did not entirely understand; women who peddled pleasure as a trade by and large were a pitiful lot, looking only for the next recompense to pay for a meal, maybe lodgings, and refuge from the bitter night. And here was a girl who seemed slave to such an existence in essence beseeching him to regard her as such! He shook his head slowly, scrutinizing the eager look upon her young face.

“The only Raoul within the family line that I can call to mind was my great-grandfather’s brother; he married a gypsy woman he had met during his travels, brought her back to Brest. That went over favorably, as you can well imagine,” he raised a sardonic eyebrow, his mouth twisting wryly. “They used to say...They used to say that anyone who crossed him fell under his wicked hex, that they took ill...”

“Me,” Aissa confirmed sheepishly. “A long way from bestowing bliss, wasn’t it? I never really cared all that much for vengeance, though a few outbursts of hives here and there, a misplaced mole, was always a spot of amusement. It was truly the delights of the flesh that made my task particularly satisfying.”

To illustrate her point, she raised her shapely legs up upon the mattress and ran an enticing hand across the tantalizingly soft curves of her body, her fingers lingering in the luscious valley between her scarcely concealed breasts.

Andre licked his dry lips, a thirst he had not previously detected making his blood hum in his ears as his mouth went parched. The enthusiastic thrumming of his cock made itself known altogether insistently as it strained against the cursedly binding fabric of his breeches; moving his thigh to try and suppress his massive erection only made things more severe, the friction of the wool and the coarse hairs of his groin against his inflamed prick making his hiss through clenched teeth in his wonderful agony. He realized it then: He desired not some anonymous female form to taste, to tease, to tickle, to plunder her womanly secrets with raging cock until she was forced to yield them to him. He wanted her, Aissa, with her proud bravado, her impetuous fire. And such was his dilemma, for he would never take advantage of a woman in her situation. Unless...

He grinned wolfishly. “I do believe I have thought of my first wish,” he told her huskily.

She gasped jubilantly, raising herself onto her knees upon the feathered mattress, sinking in a bit. “Tell me what it is!” she squeaked keenly. “Oh, don’t be a tease and do tell! You are a ruthless master! Tell me of your heart’s desire and I shall make it so!”

He lifted himself upon the cushion, moving closely to her as he sprawled out on his side. He bent his head so that his burning mouth was only inches away from the exposed arch of her neck; his breath scorched the smooth skin of her shoulder, which was the dusky hue and texture of fresh cream straight from the swollen belly of a milch cow and smelled like spice and dried jasmine. As he leaned to whisper in her ear, he smiled, arrogantly satisfied as the sensation caused her to shiver; he could feel her, unconsciously or no, incline ever so slightly towards him.

“I wish...” he made her wait a moment before continuing, watching as she breathlessly anticipated his every word. “I wish that you service my every sinful, iniquitous lust, my insatiable craving for womanly flesh with your own body...

“...only of your own free will.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aissa’s clear eyes widened in shock as she let out a loud breath, a cry almost, of astonishment. “I-I do not understand you, monsieur. Surely you misspoke! Perchance you could make another wish in your error’s stead...” It had been no blunder though and she was fully aware of it as he wrapped his arm about her full waist, she could feel the magicks beginning already. And...something more, her own magick.  
  
“It means simply, sweet Aissa,” he murmured gently to her, “that you may say to me ‘nay’ if an exploit does not please your fancy and I shall obey as you have avowed to do yourself. My blossom of the East, should I ask of you to suckle my cock as a calf at his mama’s engorged teat until you bring forth and imbibe deeply of my thick milk, you have every right to deny me for I cannot coerce you.”  
  
Her gaze met his for the first since he had voiced his wish, her golden green eyes shimmering slightly with moisture. Her brow was still faintly furrowed with bewilderment but the exhilaration brought upon her by his desire had commenced to take hold. She was aroused, the swollen little nook between her thighs pooling with the most splendid slickness that, making her squirm most pleasurably.   
  
“I wa-want to suckle your cock, Andre,” she gave him an unsure smile that made his pulse beat all the quicker. He cupped his large hand around the back of her neck, encompassing the entire breadth with long fingers as he brought her mouth to his in an ardent kiss.  
  
It started tentatively, gently as he tenderly supped first her top and then her bottom lip between his own, easing her into a more heated exchange. Creating delectable suction as he pressed his mouth to hers over and over, kissing her all the more passionately, his clever tongue dared to venture forth, skirting at first the lushness of her lips before plying inside to savor the velvet mysteries inside. He lured her own, shyly at first, to mate with his, stroking skillfully until he felt a whimper reverberate between them.  
  
Growling, he clasped her wrists in his rough grasp, rolling onto his back and drawing her with him so that she lay atop him, straddling his hips, her supple bosom pressed into his brawny chest, her chin resting upon his breastbone. The pressure of his expanding cockstand pushed resolutely into the sinuate flesh of her thigh right beneath the pulsing, moist core of her; she wanted him inside of her, deep inside, shoving, thrusting, driving as relentless and as rigorously as he could muster. And Aissa suspected that Andre could muster quite a lot.  
  
But the intense yearning only made the nefarious notions Andre’s depraved imagination could invent all the more stimulating. She gasped, sighing as he lifted her captive hands to his mouth, kissing the palms, letting his tongue rasp along the sensitive creases, along her little fingers. He draped each of her soft arms upon his shoulders and she wrapped them firmly about his head, moving in for another tantalizing kiss. He heard the snap of her fingers clearly like the peal of thunder within his thrumming ears and felt his clothing miraculously fall away, not so much as if it was being removed than as if it was melting away, like star dust. At first, his frock coat, his waistcoat soon to follow along with his cravat and finally the fine linen of his dress shirt until there was only the glossy black fur extensively adorning his strapping chest between her mouth and his feverish flesh.  
  
The fastenings of his breeches came undone, the button flap falling away and the unendurable binding of the laces slackening. She ran her tongue along the flat, dusky aureole surrounding his puckered nipple before taking the tight bud between her teeth and nipping playfully, causing him to exhale sharply, arching his broad, strong back enough that she could slide her hands under him, into the loosening heavy fabric of his trousers to cup the taut muscle of his perfectly shaped backside. The wetness of her saliva spread across his dark, masculine lobe as she sucked the agitate jut at its center all the while caressing the firm flesh of his superb bottom and listening intently as he murmured to her lovingly in his native dialect.  
  
“Ma bitte, mon amour,” he grunted, tangling long, powerful fingers in her hair, persuading her mouth downwards. “Sucer ma bitte dur, boire mon foutre--mon lait--ma belle,” he gasped, rolling his tongue over his lips as her wet mouth blazed a trail across his trim belly, nuzzling at the lustrous down that sheltered his warm, tanned skin.  
  
His small clothes glided down over his slender, rugged hips, along his sinewy thighs. He was limber, robust like a prized charger, his lengthy, lissome body spoke of a compelling potency; a steed more than worthy of a forcible ride. She imagined herself astride him as he bucked and hurtled, perched upon those lithe thighs, feeling the lean musculature tense betwixt her legs. She had seen once a stallion take his mate, mounting his lady from behind, his organ tremendous and solid as it sought its place between her trembling flanks, those wiry, strapping legs thrusting forward as he penetrated her so very deeply, keeping her in place for his bestial lunges with a powerful grip as she threw her head to and fro and pawed at the dew dampened ground. She realized she was no longer envisioning an equine coupling.  
  
And then there was his exceptional phallus, that magnificent pillar of rigid flesh leaping from a pelt of sleek ebony curls. It had a slight, natural downward bend to it even when she coiled her hand about its thick root, letting the tips of her fingers slither beneath the black whorls to caress the pale, satin skin of his groin. His breathing accelerated to naught but shallow pants as she delicately grazed the shaft, lightly drawing back what foreskin, like fine velvet, had not yet gone taut to expose the full splendor of the knob at its height, plump and smooth as a newborn babe’s fist.  
  
His grip on her cropped tresses contracted convulsively, squeezing the threads in his extensive finger’s grasp as her lips brushed his agonizingly inflamed rod, her tongue skirting its impressive length.   
  
“Now!” he roared, unable to restrain himself further; his limbs quaked like the repercussion of thunder, his muscles tensed on the edge of the anguish of ecstasy.   
  
Even of her own free will, she could not resist such a commandment, such brutal authority.  
  
Twirling her tongue about the bulging head of his cock, she slid her lips down his remarkable length, taking as much of him as she could into the heated, wet embrace of her mouth whilst her hand constricted about his now fully elongated shaft, pumping, rolling up and down his prick to the rhythm her mouth set, suckling ardently. The scent of his sex, completely male and pungently overwhelming, earthy and piquant, like his taste. No more flavorsome a wine or ale had Aissa ever sampled than the merging of his masculine sweat and the first pearline droplets of his impending orgasm, which she tasted with relish.  
  
He strained to contain himself, to prevent the instinctive movements of his hips that wanted to lunge, drive himself further into that bewitchingly tiny haven, that mouth of hers, bury himself in her throat. The milking motion of her deft fingers was driving him mad; he could scarce bear to glance downwards for the sight would surely send him over the edge. It was when her other hand took in its nimble grasp that pendulous sac in which was kept the tender fruit of his loins, two fragile orbs, when she fondled the pliant skin so gently, rubbing her thumb in circles in that enticing seat between prick and testicles, that he withdrew any pretense of control.  
  
Arching fiercely off the mattress as if lightning now coursed through his body, aching with rapture. Aissa was taken by surprise at the ferocity of his climax, a thrill making her own petite form shiver with the power and pleasure of it as she did what he had ordered, suckling the milk from him, the abundant eruptions of his seed surging from him quicker than she could consume. His thick sperm filled her mouth, slid down her gullet, making her lips shimmer with its glut. Savoring the most mannish of essences, tangy, pungent, sharp, she swallowed him down, painting his organ with his own juices as she continued her ministrations until he was at last spent and he gasped, falling back onto the thankfully plush pillows, breathless, panting.  
  
She curled her body about his larger one as she lay beside him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her legs, bent at the knee, enfolding his waist and belly, her arm firmly about his chest. “Is that what you had in mind?” she inquired coyly, quirking a spirited eyebrow. “Because I can try again, if you like,” she grinned wickedly and he laughed aloud.  
  
Sighing contentedly, he placed his arm beneath his head as he reclined against he cushions. Aissa was stroking the black hair of his tight tummy, admiring the warm honeyed tones of his skin, dark and sensuous, the top of her head nestled against his chin. Oh, it had been far too long a time since he last indulged in the charms of femininity.  
  
It was insanity, that’s what it was: Snuggled in his arms was a woman, an enchanted creature truly, if her claims proved ingenuous--and she was making a believer out of him--enthusiastic even impatient to fulfill his every desire. Affluence, influence, gratification in ways he could scarcely even contemplate were all his for the taking. And here he was, lounging naked in... Well, he wasn’t quite sure, he realized, frowning up at the drapery swathed ceiling.  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Aissa sat up, grinning at him with that full, luscious mouth. She ran her fingers through the glossy mane upon his chest, teasing his nipples in the most alluringly tormenting way; it wouldn’t be long before his cock was renewed and ready for the charge once again.   
  
“I expect you are wondering where you are,” she said with a particularly excited, proud and superior--all at once, nonetheless--countenance, quirkily poking her tongue over her teeth beneath her upper lip. “This is always so much fun!” she clapped her hands together. “It’s not every man I show this to, mind, and I don‘t think there‘s ever been a man like you, Andre Cotard!”  
  
She took him by the hand and gently coaxed him to his feet, leading him to an intricately beaded curtain in gold and glass. Puffing her chest out, she drew back the cloth and Andre found himself standing amidst a lush oasis, sparkling clear water reflected the brilliant cerulean sky as it spilled from an eternal spring into an invitingly refreshing pool, over elegantly smoothened rocks which shone like silver. Trees of all diversity shaded the serene setting as verdant meadows of soft, emerald grass rolled into the distance. He looked back and found that he had just exited a tent no larger than the size of a privy, though the inside had seemed that of a structure the dimension of the first story of his home. Glancing around, he noticed other such tents dotted about the landscape, small unassuming things rather like Aissa herself; he wondered what libidinous fantasies they held inside and they would be revealed to him.  
  
“It is exquisite, Aissa,” Andre told her with no small sense of wonderment though his tone still held a note of puzzlement. “I have never seen such a thing in all my life; it is like everything I have ever dreamt of. But this, it does not exactly enlighten...”  
  
“It’s my lamp, Andre Cotard! You are inside my lamp!” announced Aissa nearly squealing from joy at revealing such a secret to him. “Is it not beautiful? Is it not everything you have conjured up in your fancies? If it is not, I can change anything! Would you like it to be night?” She snapped her finger and abruptly the entire scene was bathed in cool, pale moonlight, the sky a smooth shade of indigo scattered with diamonds for stars. The moon herself was so large it filled nearly half the sky and silhouetted the countryscape in a rich dusk. “Does it please you?”  
  
“Very much!” he assured her, shaking off his britches hose and shoes completely, not merely unconcerned with his state of undress but completely restful; the light breeze tickled and teased his privates in the most saucy way. “But did we not speak on independence, free will? Was that not my wish?”  
  
“We did,” she grinned, most content with herself. “I have decided that it most entertains me to entertain you, and that it entertains you when I am entertained!” So, she knew now how he felt, even if she did not quite grasp it hitherto. “I’m not quite sure precisely how that operates just yet being fairly inexperienced in such matters but I know I’ve got a tickly feeling all about my belly and I’ve a feeling you know just how to appease it!  
  
“I did so love devouring your cock! So many masters, I was but an object, simply a means to an end, I suppose. But you are very different, and I don’t comprehend why! It is most vexing and enormously thrilling together! What a clever wish you made, Master Andre Cotard, for you have used only one to ensure endless delights! I am to sate your every craving, master, of my own free will! And with two wishes left! You are by far the most ingenious master I have ever had! Would you like me to suckle your cock again?” she asked keenly. “Because I most enjoyed that part!”  
  
“Lovely Aissa,” laughed Andre raucously, putting one arm round her waist, the other at the backs of her knees as he swept her up in to his arms, “exquisite Aissa, take a breath, ma chere! You’ve a bit to learn yet.” He kissed her hair tenderly before placing her upon the soft bed along the edge of the crystal watered pond, settling beside her, reclining upon the luxurious grass. “Not your skillfulness, certainly, for that you have proved most proficient,” he grinned rakishly. “There are still many diversions I have to show you, many of which,” he quirked an eyebrow, “I dare say will entertain you greatly.”  
  
“You are so very different from other masters I have had, Andre Cotard,” mused Aissa with a blithe sigh. With a click of her fingers, it was cheery midday once again, the bright sun warming without blazing, the breeze refreshing without giving off a chill. “What is it that amuses you about women, for it is apparent to me that you do enjoy the companionship of the fairer sex?”  
  
“It’s just Andre, Aissa,” he chuckled, though he had to admit to a certain perverse delight when she entitled him master. He shrugged his expansive shoulders as his mind went back to her inquiry. “A smile as only woman can produce, a laugh. Wit, intelligence...”  
  
“You do not ask for a great deal, do you?” Aissa chided playfully.  
  
“It is not as rare as most gentlemen would believe,” said Andre earnestly. “To talk with a woman, to genuinely aspire to know her, that is sublime. Perhaps I indulge a spot too much for I truthfully believe it is only when you know a woman’s mind, her spirit, that you can ever truly make love to her body.” He licked his lips, placing his hand on her hip and drawing her nearer. “Do you know what I would like to do next?” he murmured huskily. Biting her lip, she shook her head, trembling slightly in enthralling anticipation. As if, merely by thinking it he made it so, her scant clothing melted to shimmering star dust, falling away from her radiant feminine form. “Permit me show you, mon amour.”  
  
She shivered as he rolled his long fingers across the fawn surface of her shoulder, across her collarbone until at last his roaming touch reached the outside swell of her full, pert breast. He cupped the petite but bountiful bosom, his thumb circling the rosy halo, the dusky aureole surrounding its puckering tip. Aissa gasped, a beguiling tug in her belly tightening with each stroke of his deft fingertip. Her flesh was tingling, rising in goose bumps all over, as he caressed her lovingly, making her cry aloud as he pinched the nub mischievously.  
  
“I am a selfish man, Aissa,” came the low rumble of his voice, reverberating in gruffly in his throat. She could not answer him, words had left her along with cogent thought; she could only just emphatically shake her head from side to side but he would not allow her denial. Nodding his head as he brushed the hair from her face, he told her, dark eyes alight with a roguish gleam, “Oui, dreadfully selfish for your charms provoke me so, I cannot help but sample them. Do you want me to?” Again, she could only acquiesce with an inclination of her head.  
  
Wrapping his hands about her waist, he lifted her and placed her atop him, her legs straddling his sturdy waist; she could feel the engorgement of his penis snuggling into her plush backside. The juice betwixt her thighs was surging forth from her womanly fountainhead, oiling his taut belly, making his dark, warm skin and ebony fur glisten with her yearning. He would see to that soon enough...  
  
He lifted her until she was on her knees around him in his partially reclining position, drawing her tense, blushing nipple into the heat of his mouth. “Oh!” she panted, her voice softening like dripping honey as his lips tightened about the morsel and sucked, nursing her greedily. His lips pulled covetously at the tidbit, constricting, pulling hungrily, his tongue rasping lightly against the tip. He enfolded her in his arms, drawing her closer to the ravening lure of his mouth, which engulfed her flesh as if his appetite could never be slaked. She had exquisite breasts, small enough to fit into his sprawling hands, firm, the jutting peaks upturned perkily. The fragile skin of her generous areole encompassed the entirety of the crest of each bosom, and he drew in the pliant mound so that he could give suckle to her entire nipple.  
  
She moaned, allowing her eyes to drift closed despite the enthralling sight of his mouth fervently gorging himself on her flesh. She nuzzled her face into his soft hair, resting her cheek upon the top of his head. She laced her fingers into the dark, feathery tresses, captivated by the strands of silver at his temples like threads of hoary moonlight, cream swirling on the surface of rich, black coffee. He was impassioned in his attentions, his thirst fierce, more masculine than that of the feeding of an infant babe. He worshipped her breasts with touch and taste, teasing, nipping, until she was so slick down below, she writhed at the sensation.  
  
So rapt was she in his fiendish ministrations, she could hardly conceive of the wickedness of his next undertaking: Wriggling his hand between their bodies where she rested upon his stomach, plying open the yielding, swollen lips of her quim, he plunged a long, thick finger deep into her.  
  
“OH!” she cried out, nearly weeping as he stroked the contracting inner walls of her burrow, knowing just the spot, as he crooked the finger, that would drive her entirely mad.  
  
“Do you want me inside of you?” he asked hoarsely, tilting his head upwards to sip the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. His hand continued to fondle her inner most secrets as he kissed her, drinking of the cries of her joy. She nodded her head, returning his kiss passionately. “Oui? You would like me inside of you?” He was teasing her somewhat arrogantly, knowing she could not answer for the bliss she was enduring as consequence of his deeds. “Oui!” he grinned salaciously, chuckling gruffly at her ingenuous confusion as she raised herself to her haunches, readying to impale herself on his rigid staff when he ceased her progress.  
  
He rolled them both so that he now was atop her, pinioning her to the soft grass as he showered kisses upon her belly, gentle, suggestive as a whisper. Her thighs tumbled apart for him as he positioned himself betwixt her legs, draping her shapely calves upon his shoulders.  
  
“Master Andre...” she said timidly, uncertain of his intentions until she felt the heated press of his lips against the plump cleft of her sex.  
  
He ran his tongue along the mossy seam, lapping at the escaping sap with relish. His thumbs parted the furry crevice, split her open like overripe fruit as his tongue snaked between the scrumptious folds.  
  
Aissa had never fully experienced the act directly, though she had witnessed it many times over the centuries. Naught could have prepared her for the sensation of it, of Andre, whom she had become so enamored of--dare she mention the words adoration and devotion for she had been disenchanted in the past--licking up, drinking of her chalice so vigorously, ravenously. He ran his mouth from top to bottom, swirling it about her quivering pussey until his lips came to rest upon the swollen kernel hidden within her silken pleats, circling the taut nub with the point of his tongue before swallowing it between his lips. Mischievously raking his teeth around it, making her thrash, her hips lunging upwards of their own accord in her abandoned furor.  
  
He held her in his strong clutch, supping of her amorously, feverishly drinking down her hot nectar as it poured from her wellspring. She shook with rapture, the coil in her tummy tensed and tightened, her fingers tugging at his cocoa tresses blended with wisps of silver, urging him not to cease until she reached completion. He’d no intention of doing any such thing. She was luscious, scrumptious, thick and brackish with that feminine musk that made him giddy with intoxication. Panting whimpers flew from her lips as her back arched off the sweet scented grass, moaning as one long finger filled her as his lips and tongue continued its exhilarating dance. The colors churning before her eyes, through her blood, became more vivid, more brilliant than she could ever conjure up with her own magicks.  
  
And, almost as soon as it had begun, it reached its pinnacle and she felt herself tumbling down into an abyss, a swirling eddy of warmth and light. She reached fulfillment, her orgasm bursting from her so brutally, she felt as if it might rend her in two. And all the while, there was his tongue, lapping, licking up her slick come which rushed forth from the heart of her.  
  
“Oh,” she sighed languorously as he lay his wiry form beside hers, her eyes glittering affectionately as she brushed the backs of her fingers against his burning cheek. “That was...that was...unexpected. Nevertheless spectacular.” He intertwined his fingers with hers, pressing them to his lips, still moist with her. She stretched her tingling limbs languidly, like a cat, relishing in the feel of the sun upon her skin. She was flushed with ecstasy and with a tinge of coyness; she was not abashed of her body but for the way he looked at her, with admiration and satisfaction, that made her demure. “You were right,” she giggled, “I’ve still much to discover.”  
  
“I believe,” he grinned arrogantly in that Gaulish manner that made her mad with frustration and faint with longing, “my wish is, not unlike me, not yet spent.”   
  
He took her by the waist and she cried out as he all of a sudden pulled her into the cool, calm waters of the reflecting pool, following her with a delighted groan as the gentle current created by their immersion showered his inflamed flesh.


	3. Chapter 3

The water was soothing, restful, to his somewhat overburdened muscles. Aissa was petite, easily enveloped by the peaceful waters up to her heavenly breasts, collecting in the luscious valley between the two supple mounds and about the dark nipples. He had to stoop a bit to submerge his lengthy, lissome form to the chest, treading water despite the fact his feet were firmly planted in the fine, white sand at the bottom of the pool. He went under for a moment, making her squeal as he grabbed at her calves before breaking the surface, tossing his slick, dark tresses from his face and long queue from his shoulder, splashing her playfully.  
  
She giggled, floating gracefully upon the rippling glass, dipping with aplomb under the gentle cascade trickling through a smooth rock foundation; the water flowed down her bountiful curves, those magnificent titties, trickling in tempting droplets from the tips of her nipples. He stood to his full height, the water gathering at his waist as the glistening head of his arousal lightly bobbed to the surface. He was a large man, but lithe as well, and he swam effortlessly, his sinew rippling powerfully beneath his bronzed flesh. He caught her around the waist, lifting her readily in the serene waters, pressing her back to his brawny trunk.  
  
He cupped her derriere as he placed her against the smooth, glossy rocks, positioning himself between her succulent thighs. Andre was an exceptionally sizeable man, in height and physique, that was not to be denied, but Frenchwomen were generally tall and of svelte bearing. He was unused to Aissa’s small and shapely figure: The plentiful, buxom backside tapered into a comparatively slender waist and burst forth again with her profuse bosom. Her thighs were soft and round snuggled against the limber muscle of his legs, her yielding bottom against his taut belly. His cock nestled alongside the mossy cleft at the junction of her legs.  
  
She sighed tenderly, wondering in that part of her intellect that was not consumed with luxuria for Andre if this is what it was like to be under the same enchantment she customarily wove upon her masters. His extended phallus, as long as to be in proportion with his build and as broad, pushed into the seam of her sex, his fingers parting her oily pleats, splitting the downy lips with seeking thumbs. The crest of the water lapped at their joined bodies as he mounted her, sinking into her satiny depths until he was buried to the roots, her fantasy regarding the stallion and his mate coming back to her, excluding the water of course, which only served to increase the her stimulation. He was as vigorous, robust as a steed in estrus but more controlled, measuring each move so that it gave them both the utmost of contentment.  
  
Ever so carefully, he gorged her loins with his rigid shaft, its stout head, he fancied, reaching into her velvety heart, perhaps that most enchanting of womanly mysteries, the snug collar of her womb. Unhurriedly, deliberately, he retreated, bit by bit, thrusting forth once again until he sank in to his foundation, withdrew again halfway and in for the charge again. Sometimes he would pull out to her indulgent entrance, the soft inner lips of la moule sucking at his bulging knob before sating her hunger with the whole of his extensive cock; sometimes he would draw out a bit at a time. She sobbed her wordless bliss, resting her cheek against the cool rock, her fingers clawing at the freshly fragrant moss there as she pushed her plush bum into his firm, flat stomach.  
  
As his enjoyment increased, so did his ache and his exigency, his lunges becoming forcible, aggressive. Oh, but to feel those close pink walls hug his prick, to clutch it so covetously as he plundered her hidden opulence. To be her, to feel the complete swelling of his distended biroute, his fingers clasping about the stiff nubbin within the juicy flesh of her cunny, her scrumptious little clito, rolling it, tweaking.   
  
“I wish,” he moaned gutturally, gratification nearing him so entirely he could barely find his own voice.  
  
“Yes, Andre, yes!” hissed Aissa urgently. “Say it, tell me what you wish!”  
  
“I wish to feel everything, experience what you do that I may sample the paradise you so gladly suffer. I wish to share each and every sensation of passion, as well as the thrill of culmination!”  
  
She was nearly too weak for her joyousness to snap her fingers, but she managed with that distinctive and strident click. All at once, the world turned topsy-turvy and he reached heights of euphoria he never realized could even exist.   
  
“Mon Dieu!” Andre gasped out, hardly believing such thrill could be.   
  
Their voice became as one, panting and crying out their satisfaction in unanimity. Aissa shut her eyes tight, gnashing her teeth as the stone in her belly, that ever tremulous knot in her tummy, spouted into full bloom; she was simultaneously the thunder and the dazzling rainbow that followed the downpour. The sense of completion of feeling his member gorge her wholly and the eruption of his seed pumped deep within her, the wetness of it seeping down her thighs.  
  
Andre was gasping, clutching the rock on either side of her, chest heaving for breath, his eyes rolled slightly so that the smoldering darkness of his irises had been replaced by whiteness. He hunched over, his knees almost failing him as he desperately struggled for respite.   
  
“Good God, ma chere!” he grunted, leaning against the polished rock face, slumping his large figure as he threw his head back, breathless. “Remarkable! I’d no notion of what it...Oh!” he licked his dry lips, still panting. “C’est incredible! It was superb!”  
  
She wrapped her arms about his waist, placing her head against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. “Perchance I’ve something to teach you,” she laughed huskily. He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards so that he could steal a kiss from her rosy lips. He caressed her hair, running his fingers through the silken cropped locks, lifting her and placing her upon the bank of the pool. He found, in astonishment but not incredulity, that the moment they left the water, they were dry though still invigorated from the tranquil waters.  
  
She giggled as he lay on his back, his torso rising and falling violently, one arm draped across his stomach, the other, across his forehead. He laughed with her, running his hand through his hair. “So, that is what it is like for...”  
  
“Us womenfolk?” Aissa teased. “Yup.”  
  
“I never supposed...” he chuckled, closing his eyes and letting a long, soft sigh leave his lips. “I mean to say, I knew it was...good, very good...”  
  
“With you, staggeringly exceptional, I expect,” she raised an eyebrow playfully.  
  
“I have never heard of any grievances,” he grinned, splashing her with his foot, making her yelp and snicker with surprise. “Sincerely, a lover’s pleasure is paramount but I did not imagine...I mean, how could I have? It is always like that?”  
  
“Mm hmm,” she nodded, biting her lip in merriment. “Well, not always, not each time, obviously. Oh, how you would just fancy having your smug confidence stroked like that, for me to say, ‘Oh, Andre, only with you!’” she batted her eyelashes demurely. “‘Oh, I have never known gratification such as I have with you!’ Even if it is truthful,” she snorted. “Rather! Your head is far too large as it is...” she huffed when she noticed he made to reply slyly. “The one on your shoulders, you cheeky beggar!”  
  
The sky was growing hazy, though it lost none of its brilliance; it turned a lovely shade of violet that quite reminded Andre of the sunset of a calm winter’s twilight over his home near Brest. He hadn’t seen the like since he was a boy.   
  
“How is it,” he inquired peacefully, “that you seem to always know what is in my mind?”  
  
“It is my responsibility, my obligation, master,” Aissa reminded him somewhat frivolously. She leaned in closer so that he could smell the perfume of her hair, the fragrance of her warm skin. Her breath burned agreeably like the breeze off the dunes of some far off desert of some far off land. The tip of her nose nuzzled at the shell of his ear, feeling the bushy softness of his hair against her cheek. Her fingers slipped between his and he readily seized them, interlacing them with his own. “Come with me,” she whispered breathlessly. “There is something I would like to show you.”  
  
She stood, hand still firmly clasped in his as she persuaded him to his feet and guided him through her enchanted world, past many of the small tents, over a meadow until they stood at the gently sloping summit of a hillock. There, just beyond the flourishing pastures, was undulating banks of the softest sand, grains as fine as silk. And at this crest, there sat a very exceptional looking tent, not in that is was specifically larger than any other, or more lavishly draped, though it was of a unique color. She drew back the curtain and led him inside.  
  
And he was there, the rich bedchamber of his earlier days in the manor in which he had spent his unburdened and, some would say, callow youth. Every detail was perfect, exactly how he remembered, but it did not make him sad, as he would have anticipated, but instead filled him with cheer. It was beautiful, the snow falling in a quiet flurry just behind the thick glass of the large windows, gathering upon the panes. It obscured the dusky lavender noonday sky and toyed with the lanterns burning along the estate’s pathways. A fire roared upon the hearth and gave off great warmth but somehow did not encroach upon the calm of the snowfall. The bed was as enormous and welcoming as he recalled, even moreso with Aissa lying seductively upon the luxurious velvet duvet, sinking into the generous feather ticks.  
  
He remained by one vast window, his arms raised, his hands twined behind his head as he watched the idyllic scene before him. Aissa got a rather agreeable view of Cotard’s backside: Those lengthy, lissome legs, the sinew rippling beneath the darkly honey tinted flesh, the lithe muscles of his strapping back as he stretched his arms, the way they rolled like the mild billows upon the sea. And his rear. He had to have had, Aissa reckoned, the finest bum in the entire western world. It was taut, muscular, and flawlessly shaped, somewhat elongated to proportion with the remainder of his form. Not slack in the least, each cheek firm, dimpled lightly at the place where his extensive back sloped into the solid, even globes. His lean waist and slender thighs complimented his bottom’s figure, the way the flesh flowed closely, pulled tensely over his graceful musculature. Yes indeed, it had to be the finest derri�re she’d ever laid eyes upon, and she had seen some fine rumps in her time.  
  
“Benefiting from the view, ma chere?” chortled Andre, sighing deeply, passively. He’d never thought it possible to improve on his own recollections of his childhood dwelling, that was until he took in the spectacle of Aissa, chin propped up upon her steepled fingers, lounging beguilingly, unclothed and sprawled out like a promiscuous pagan seductress, upon the bed he could claim so many conquests to.  
  
“Yes, I was, actually,” answered Aissa mischievously. “The way the flames were alighting your posterior, it reminded me of those wondrous Greek artisans, you know? The sculptors, the way that they could capture every subtle nuance of the male structure, every groove, each taut tendon captured in pale, cold marble or...fiery bronze,” she quirked an eyebrow, her fervent gaze sweeping his body.  
  
“Are you comparing me to a god of old?” smirked Andre, turning at the waist to regard her with his smug look of satisfaction.  
  
“A naughty satyr, perhaps,” she clucked her tongue. “What did I say before about your swollen head...?”  
  
Andre chuckled, rotating fully into her line of vision. He spread his arms in a motion of deference to his own wanton cravings. “Swollen head indeed,” he stated brazenly, his prick stirring with the first rigidity of another glorious hard-on. “But not, perhaps, the one on my shoulders this time.” He sauntered to the edge of the bedstead where her embrace was awaiting him, her adoring kiss enveloping his mouth. Her lips were inflamed with the passion of their mouths’ union, her pretty pout all the more full, all the more alluring. Her knees submerging into the luxuriant bedding, she leaned against him, pressing her breasts into the glossy down upon his chest, wrapping her arms about his neck. “How did you know?” he murmured, brushing his lips against her jaw. “That I’d want to return here?”  
  
“Oh, Andre,” she chided playfully, “haven’t you learned yet that you are not the only one who’s gotten everything sussed out?” She squeaked as he swept his arm into the crook of her knees, causing her to fall backwards, in his arms, onto the velvet eiderdown. They lay entangled for a moment, Andre kissing her fingers as she burrowed her face into his burly chest, sighing contentedly. “I would like to see my home again, if only for a moment,” she confided. “The way I remember it, in here,” she took his hand and placed it over her heart. “But I would not want to stay,” she smiled. “This is far too amusing!”  
  
“Mmm, amusing,” he mumbled, snuggling his mouth into the fragrant valley between her breasts, his knee working his way twixt her thighs, prying them open; the bristly hair of his legs prickling the sensitive, sinuous flesh, tickling her downy little cleft. His lips plucked at her pert, ripe nipple, the rough velvet of his tongue chafing at the pert, receptive nub. His fingers, long and thick, separated the damp seam of her sex and slipped inside, savoring the fact that he could make her so wet so swiftly.  
  
Aissa gasped, arching off the mattress, the searing, moist enclosure of his mouth engulfing the puckered tips of her bosom; she could feel the bedewed pull of each hungry suckle, sending a shock to her belly, to the melting core of her womb. She yearned for him to fill her, his fingers’ caress only a tempting tease of what she truly wanted. He concentrated upon the stiff morsel within the slick folds, grinding the ball of his thumb against its base. He rolled his fingertip along the swollen petals of her labia until she was squirming in his palm, steeping him in her brackish juice as it surged from her.  
  
He plunged into that sweet small retreat, thrusting his fingers in to the secret parts of her, stroking those precious places, drinking the uneven sighs from her lips. “Andre,” she whispered, her eyes large and shimmering as she tangled her hand in his thick foretop and brought his face to hers. She was near to her shatter point, moaning like a thing possessed as her hips swayed and bucked to his sinful rhythm. He removed his fingers, painting her nipples in her nectar, making them glisten in the dim firelight for the moment before he again put his lips to the tight stubs, nursing, licking her flesh, her body’s liquor from her beautiful, dusky lobes.  
  
He trickled kisses down the slight, round bump of her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel before he perched himself between her thighs. He nuzzled her wooly snatch, relishing the spicy aroma of her femininity and the springy curls of her cresson against his lips and cheek. Encouraging him with tiny, desperate sounds of imminent completion, she bit her lip as he entered her, his tongue plowing through the creases of her pussey recklessly, tickling the pearl within. Ooh, his mouth was a cunning thing, sweeping across the febrile flesh as he lapped up her silky emissions, nibbled upon her tender clito until she was shuddering, pleading with him for mercy. And again, he began to experience it, that wondrously inscrutable womanly sensation as she climbed higher and higher towards her crest.  
  
She cried out fiercely, thrashing her head, turning it so that she could now bury her face at least partially in the plushy duvet. “Oh Andre,” she sobbed, the tingling euphoria tethered in her loins igniting, pouring forth like a molten inferno into her leaden limbs. Mon Dieu, he panted, gripping her backside to steady himself, light in the head, diving into her petite chatte with even more enthusiasm than before, eager to generate that glorious phenomenon, to give pleasure to Aissa he’d only previously dreamt he could create. The mere sight of him, the warm, rich cocoa of his hair, bobbling between her thighs pushed her to the brink of agony as his wicked mouth stimulated her concealed core.  
  
Her climax was sudden and furious, tearing through her like a wave plowing the shoreline. And he experienced every moment of it, leaving him gasping, floundering for breath, the both of them flopping about almost comically upon the bed as they struggled to regain their restraint.  
  
“Merde! That is truly fantastic, ma chere,” Andre panted with a bit of an ironic chuckle. “That is...that is...” He shook his head incredulously. He knew he was bestowing pleasure, and he himself found satisfaction in that; a certain masculine pride, as a matter of fact. But to actually know, to share with her that astonishing moment of elation. “Will that happen...every time, you know, hereafter?”  
  
“If you do not wish it...” Aissa sat up promptly, eager to please as she readied her fingers, her thumb prepared to snap off of her middle finger like the striking of a match. He stopped her at once, catching her wrist in his strong fingers.  
  
“Non,” he told her, shaking his head as he laughed, “mais non! To understand the gratification of your partner is too long to increase it. Also, it is...Perhaps I am a bit selfish, too, hmm?” he grinned. “And perhaps a little bit not, oui? I enjoy knowing a lover’s needs,” he touched her face so softly, “knowing I am...” he arched an eyebrow, “satisfying them, her.” But he had his own needs as well, and his rigid phallus, pulsing with his life’s blood, strained to its fullest, was beckoning most directly.  
  
“Now I believe I’ve something to see to,” she kissed the corner of his mouth as her small fingers surrounded throbbing column of flesh, just below the ridge of its engorged helmet. A soft sound escaped his parted lips as he let his eyes drift closed, tilting his head back into the luxuriousness of the feather bed. Leisurely, she glided her palm across the heated flesh, making him groan with heedless bliss. “I’d say I had matters well in hand, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“Quite,” he laughed huskily, watching with feverish interest as she straddled his lean waist, bracing her hands against his broad, burly shoulders. Wiggling her backside in the most exciting way, she positioned herself above him, the head of his cock nudging into the entry to the seat of her womanhood. He grasped her hips and roughly brought her down on him, grunting raucously as he submerged himself in her snug suppleness, boring into her very core. He was passive for the time being, contented to sprawl upon the bedspread and suffer the rise and fall of her sonsie hips, gazing at her plump breasts as the dangled above his chest, taking one in hand and shaping it in his palm. Her fingers raked the mane of ebony locks gracing his chest, feeling his muscles surge, clench and unclench beneath her fingertips’ sweep, rolling like the surf.  
  
Steadily, his own hips began to follow her rhythm until he could bear it no longer. He clasped her firmly by the waist and turned them both over so that he now lay upon her, pinning her to the mattress as he rode her. He drove into her rigorously, relentlessly as she enfolded her legs about his waist, locking her feet at the arching place where his back met his perfect backside. He plunged into her unremittingly, plumbing the plush heart of her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing deeply the mannish scent of honeyed skin. A gravelly sound rumbled in his throat savagely as she nipped her teeth against his shoulder, lashing her tongue against the sweat slickened flesh, nibbling at his earlobe even as riotous, breathless gasps tumbled from her own mouth.  
  
She met each of his thrusts with the same hunger, the same insatiability, matching his furious tempo, bellies meeting, caressing in a rising wave only to swell downward and recur the lascivious dance. He was diving into her so completely, filling her so entirely, she could not imagine ever wanting for any sensual delight ever again. Their mouths met, each sipping the other’s cries of ecstasy in a passionate kiss, as the after blaze of lightening lingered behind Aissa’s languorous eyelids. Clinging to his far larger figure as it smothered her, inside and out, frenziedly digging her fingernails into his shoulders, she wept his name, her tremendous climax rending her into a thousand luminous rays of light, shattering her until she was like a helpless babe, shivering in his arms.  
  
He bit back a roar of satisfaction as well as consummation as her moist, silken sheath compressed about him, squeezing, milking his cock in her moment of orgasm until his seed burst forth, seemingly to douse the fires raging within. Heaven was about him, wrong side up it dizzied the both of them, climbing higher and higher amongst the blinding upsurge of blithe radiance. He poured his offering into her privileged interior, pumping his sperm into her womb, onto her full thighs, just inside the rosy lips of her plump nook. With rapt absorption, even as he experienced his own rapture, he watched as bliss washed over her, her legs jerking around him, pulling him deeper.  
  
He carefully lifted her, aware of his superior power and size, resting his head against the pillows and placing her against his heaving chest, hugging her closely. He stroked her hair, kissing it reverently as her fingers tangled in his pelt of curled sable fur adoring his chest, running them along his arms to his knuckles, where his hair still dusted his flesh. Together, they watched the snow falling quietly, softly.  
  
“You’ve still one wish left, master,” she said gently, nestling into his shoulder, into the pit of his arm. “Would you desire to stay here?”  
  
“Non,” he replied after a moment’s pause. “What is passed has passed; to try to reclaim it, even by bewitchment...It would be wrong.” Silence, as if the snow was enclosing them in its own hushed world. “I do not suppose you can end wars?”  
  
“Oh, I am sorry, Andre Cotard,” she answered sadly, “but men start wars, men must be the ones end them.” He nodded then, thoughtfully. “I could bring someone back from the dead,” she said hopefully, turning somewhat dejected as she went on, “though that generally doesn’t end up well. You know, the smell and all.”  
  
“If there is one wish, just one, that I would choose after all of this,” he sighed wistfully, the corner of his mouth turning upwards slightly at the thought of Aissa hanging on his every word, eager to please her lord. It would make what he had to say all the more brilliant. “One wish and I would choose for you, my jewel. Freedom.”  
  
“I don’t...” Aissa’s brow furrowed, her voice carrying a bit of a catch as if she daren’t even hope.  
  
“I wish, my beautiful Aissa, for your liberty: Freedom of will. To do what you want, go where you please, never to be beholden to another again. That is my final wish.” There was no response, the darkening evening enveloping them like a gossamer veil. Soon, he was aware that her breathing had steadied and that she had drifted in to slumber. He followed shortly after.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He awoke with a start, the glass of brandy dropping from his hand as he sat up too quickly. Outside the picture window, the English snow was still gliding through the air in whirling flurries whilst the fire had died to naught but embers. Home, he thought, and for the first time, it really, truly felt like it. He cleared his throat, raising himself as he wondered on the fantastical dream he’d just had. He chuckled, shaking his head at the fanciful notions of his power of invention.  
  
The grandfather clock in the hallway sounded its jovial chiming; it was one in the morning. He’d been asleep for little less than an hour but it had felt like a lifetime. Joyeux Noel, he repeated to himself with a small smile. It was time he was getting off to bed. As he retrieved the glass from the floor and reached to set it down on a nearby table, he noticed something gleaming faintly in the dim light. A lamp.  
  
He grinned broadly.


	4. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ultimately, I went with a more subtle, suggestive ending, but I had written a lengthier one, as seen here.

He awoke with a start, the glass of brandy dropping from his hand as he sat up too quickly. Outside the picture window, the English snow was still gliding through the air in whirling flurries whilst the fire had died to naught but embers. Home, he thought, and for the first time, it really, truly felt like it. He cleared his throat, raising himself as he wondered on the fantastical dream he’d just had. He chuckled, shaking his head at the fanciful notions of his power of invention.

The grandfather clock in the hallway sounded its jovial chiming; it was one in the morning. He’d been asleep for little less than an hour but it had felt like a lifetime. Joyeux Noel, he repeated to himself with a small smile. It was time he was getting off to bed. He stepped into the narrow corridor just beyond the parlor and nearly collided with his trusted domestic, Mrs. Oliver, who babbled her apologies.

“Oh, Mr. Cotard!” the stout woman gasped in her heavy Northern accent, throwing up her hands in surprise and penance, “I weren’t expected yer to be about at this time; I was excepting yer was in bed by now! Forgive me, sir! I was just getting me a ‘eadstart on Boxing Day! ’Twas a fine roast, sir!”

But Andre was no longer listening; his eyes had alighted upon something placed with care upon one of the small, ornate tables that lined the hallway’s dark walls. It glittered dully in the dim light of the palling sconces: An unassuming brass lamp of old, the surface of which had recently been wiped of it dust and ageing to reveal an Arabic inscription. Mrs. Oliver clicked her tongue as Andre took the object in hand regardfully.

“It’s the new maid, sir, I’m always warnin’ ‘er not to leave ‘er rubbish around.”

“New maidservant, Mrs. Oliver?” Andre inquired, his brow creasing. He did not recall taking on anyone new recently, no matter how he scrutinized his memory. He could recollect no one, especially none of the young, nubile, female kind, as was his tendency to employ.

“The Mohammedan chit, sir, calls ‘erself an amah,” snorted Mrs. Oliver as she screwed up her round face, reddened from, Andre suspected, much festivity and wine consumption. “Fancy word for maid, ‘iffin you arsk me! Name’s Alicia or Alana or some sort...”

“Aissa?” Andre asked breathlessly.

“Can’t recall, sir, beggin’ yer pardon! She’s just another blackamoor from the East, sir, not worth the effort to punish ‘er for leavin’ her ragbag lyin’ about.” She made a move to take the lamp from Andre but he pulled it away from her adamantly. “She’s in the kitchens now, sir, iffin you be anxious to be talkin’ with ‘er.”

Before she could speak again, Mrs. Oliver watched in wonder as her master strode away, his back turned to her, headed straight for the cookhouse.

“Don’t that beat all!” she said, dumbfounded, before throwing her hands up once again as if she were washing them clean of the whole matter.

He was nearly jogging by the time he reached the cookery, gazing anxiously about the deserted room. There was no one. Perhaps it had all been a part of his dream, perchance even Mrs. Oliver a figment of his inventive imagination. The door to the courtyard was slightly ajar; he moved towards it to close it and engage the deadbolt when he noticed a hooded figure moving through the gathering snow. She turned to him, a smile on her full mouth, her darkly hazel eyes twinkling in the failing light. Her hair was cropped short and was emblazon with tinted streaks. She tightened the woolen cloak about her and began to make her way to the servants’ quarters across the atrium once again.

Andre grinned broadly and followed.


End file.
